The Red Effect (Cold War)

by Black, Harvey

  The two Spetsnaz agents, who had been infiltrated into the country the previous day posing as long-distance lorry drivers from East Germany, looked at each other. The dark-haired one, the leader, responded, “We have only been told that it is an exercise. But the situation between us and the West appears to be taking a turn for the worse. I think you could be correct: we may very well be doing this for real.”

  “I think I’ll have that other drink after all.”

  Dark Hair topped up their glasses for a third time. “Does that worry you?”

  “No, it’s what I was set up here for. Na zdorovje.”

  “Na zdorovje.”

  Glug, glug. The glasses were refilled.

  “Anyway, the capitalists need teaching a lesson. Na zdorovje.” But his own secret thoughts were very different. He had come to like living in the West and had managed to carve himself if not a wealthy life, certainly a comfortable one. A war between the East and West could only be a bad thing.

  “You OK?”

  He looked up at the dark-haired soldier, conscious that he had been deep in thought. “Just reflecting on what needs to be done: accommodation, supplies, transport.”

  “The hotel we’re in seems adequate.”

  “Yes, but only for another night. You are lorry drivers. I will need to move you somewhere else tomorrow morning. The German police will have a record of your passports by now. I have new ones for you.”

  “Where are our supplies?”

  “There’s a bunker about five kilometres south-west of here.”

  “How’s it hidden?”

  “It’s a fairly dense forest. It’s accessible, not easy, but then that suits our purpose. The bunker is in the centre.”

  “When did you last check it?” Cropped Hair asked.

  “Day before yesterday.”

  “What’s its condition?”

  “Good, good. Its seals were intact. I opened some of the weapons packs and, apart from some needing a good clean, they were in good condition and operable.”

  “And the special weapon?”

  “Intact. I hope to God we don’t have to use it.”

  He was referring to a specially made suitcase which, with its contents, weighed close to fifty kilograms. It was a deadly weapon: a SADM (Special Atomic Demolition Munition) smuggled into West Germany three years ago. The Sleeper was responsible for placing it there and watching over its security. Assembled in the Soviet Union, they were made to facilitate the destruction of key NATO targets, such as nuclear weapons sites, communications sites and even power plants. This was what concerned the Sleeper agent the most: the thought of a dirty nuclear bomb being exploded in what had become his new home. Although less than half a kiloton, equivalent to approximately five hundred tons of TNT, it would still cause utter devastation, and the dirty radioactive fallout would contaminate a wide area. Then what? A full nuclear exchange?

  “Fresh batteries?” asked Cropped Hair.

  “Yes, I change them regularly. There’s been no interruption to the power.”

  “Good.” Dark Hair topped his glass up again and offered the bottle to the two others who declined. “I want to see it tomorrow.”

  “Of course. What will you need to take out?”

  “Initially some explosives and enough weapons for the other six in our team that we are expecting, and of course ourselves. Can we store them here?”

  “No, I have a shed on another site close by. We can use that.When are the rest of your team due?”

  “We’re expecting them by midnight tomorrow. Any unusual activity seen in the local area?”

  “No, Comrade, nothing. No additional troop movements or enhanced security. It can’t last though; the West must pick up the signals soon, providing something is going to happen on a much larger scale.”

  “They don’t seem the slightest bit bothered by Hammer 84.”

  “Should they be?”

  “Who knows, Comrade, who knows,” Cropped Hair responded. “We’ll certainly know when we get our next set of instructions tomorrow.”

  Chapter 18

  OUTSKIRTS OF EAST BERLIN. 3 JULY 1984.

  THE RED EFFECT −3 DAYS.

  Bradley hoisted his eighty-pound Bergen up higher, jumping it up so it would rest higher up onto his shoulders, pulling the straps tighter at the front, giving his hips a rest. Although he had added some additional sponge padding to the straps, secured with wide black tape, they still dug into his armpits, making them red raw.

  It was two-thirty in the morning on the 3rd July. They had been in East Berlin since midday. He swallowed as he thought back to their fraught passage through Checkpoint Charlie. There had been a heated debate amongst the Grenztruppen der DDR officers on duty. They seemed reluctant to let the Section through, but eventually allowed them to pass.

  Was he afraid? Yes he was, as was Jacko tabbing behind him on the narrow track that was taking them through the forest. They both knew that potentially they wouldn’t be going back. Should the situation between the Western governments and the Soviet Union deteriorate further and hostilities break out between the Warsaw Pact and NATO, he and Jacko had enough supplies to stay in the East for up to two weeks. Then their survival would be in their own hands; they would be dependent on their own skills to stay alive. Although trained in the use of covert OPs (observation posts) in Northern Ireland against the IRA during the height of the troubles over there, and in West Germany against KGB agents operating against the West, this was different. Recently, Bradley had been recalling the two-week survival course he had completed in the Bavarian mountains during a winter season two years ago. The instructors were from the British SAS, attached to the International Long Range Reconnaissance Patrol School based in Weingarten. He felt that all his training and operational experience would stand him in good stead. Unfortunately, Jacko was the weak link. There had not been enough time to get a partner for Bradley to Berlin in time, so the decision was to use Jacko, who had volunteered, because at least he was familiar with the East Berlin Sector.

  Bradley lifted the image intensifier up to his eyes, the green shimmer helping him pick his way through the forest as they headed east. To his right, on the other side of the forest, a railway line ran parallel to them. Their destination was a copse on the other side of the autobahn that was just a few hundred metres ahead. It was at a point where the railway line crossed over the East German motorway. An OP there would give them a clear view of all rail traffic moving through the northern part of the city and vehicular traffic transiting the orbital motorway. The Range Rover had been well and truly hidden in a small forest that ran along the Hobrechtsfelder Chaussee. The hide had been recced earlier in the week. The vehicle had been driven into a dip, a gully, with thick foliage and trees lining either side. With a cam-net thrown over the top of it and some broken branches dragged from further afield, the vehicle would remain hidden, at least for a few days. Should the belligerent state of affairs between East and West diminish, they would be able to recover the vehicle and return to West Berlin and safety. If it all kicked off, they wouldn’t need it again as they would be hundreds of kilometres behind enemy lines, and would have a different task to perform. Once the MFS and Soviets started to search for them, knowing they hadn’t passed back through Checkpoint Charlie, it wouldn’t take them long to discover their transport.

  Bradley heard a car passing up ahead, indicating they were getting close to the motorway. He stopped and turned towards Jacko, who nearly walked into the back of him, and whispered, “Ring up ahead. We’ll get to the edge, check it out and then straight across. OK?”

  Jacko acknowledged the order and Bradley moved off again, the forest providing them with good cover right up to the edge of the motorway. Ten minutes later, they arrived at the verge. It was quiet. At that time in the morning, it would be quiet, unlike some of the motorways in the West that seemed to be used constantly. Bradley spent a moment getting his bearings. To their north-west was Bucher Strasse; to their south-east Huber
tusdamm and the railway line; and ahead, north-east, the Berliner ring road.

  Jacko came alongside him and Bradley whispered. “It’s quiet now. Ready?”

  “As I’ll ever be.”

  They got up from their crouch, straining under the weight of their packs, and moved forward. Looking left and right for telltale vehicle lights, they stepped over the barrier, shuffled across the eastbound carriageway, over the central reservation, across the westbound carriageway and, within a matter of minutes, were out of sight, hidden in a small grove.

  They followed the line of the autobahn south-east until they arrived at the site of the railway line where it crossed over the road, the Berlin ring road. Bradley knew exactly where he was going, having reconnoitred the location a week earlier, so they pressed on. A line of trees ran parallel to the railway line, on the north-west side of the embankment.

  Bradley searched out the section he wanted: a mass of thick, three-metre high undergrowth that had swamped the embankment and grappled its way amongst the trees. “That’s where we’re headed for,” he hissed.

  They edged their way towards the thickest centre of mass, Bradley looking about him with the image intensifier, picking out landmarks, making sure this was the exact spot. Satisfied, he hissed to Jacko again as he dropped his Bergen to the ground, “Keep watch.”

  Bradley took a fairly hefty pack off the top of the Bergen, carrying it to the start of the undergrowth, and placed it on the ground. As he faced the mass in front of him, the railway line was directly behind and, below, the autobahn to his left. Picking up the pack again and crouching low, he pushed his way into the profusion of vegetation, quietly cursing as vicious barbs pierced and ripped into his exposed skin. Forcing his way in deeper and deeper, the pack held out in front, he finally got to where he needed to be. Lifting the pack upwards, he shoved it as high as possible into the thick carpet of stalks that criss-crossed overhead. Slowly unfolding, the pack opening inwards as he pushed higher, it unravelled into an igloo-like shape that gradually transformed the entangled undergrowth into a space that would be their home for the coming days. Bradley tweaked at the edges, bending the overhead shield, made up of a number of layers, into shape. The first was a thin layer of hessian, topped with a fine-mesh chicken wire; a waterproof layer on top of that; a further thin layer of hessian; and topped off with a cam-net. Now fully open, holding the foliage about them at bay, it would provide them with a dry and well hidden home, and in relative comfort while they carried out the mission assigned to them. He called to Jacko, and they dragged their Bergens inside, pushing them to the back, using them as a further barrier against the advancing undergrowth. They now had a space of about two metres long by one and a half metres wide. All they needed now was to get organized and unpack their equipment that had been packed in reverse order: last in, first out. Just the key items to start with. Lying side by side on the waterproof ground sheet, no lights to help them, they had gone through the drill many times – so many times that they could do it blindfold. In fact, that is exactly how they did practise.

  Jacko went back outside while Bradley hung strips of torn cam-scarf, a square of thin, green-mesh cotton, used to wrap around your neck and face, along the edges of the hide, with a double layer by the entrance. In the morning, he would need to check how covert their hide was, but he felt confident that if anyone stared into the blackness of the bush, blackness was all that they would see. He unravelled their sleeping bags and lay them down along the length of the hide. It was nearly complete. Two things remained to do: ready their weapons, two nine-millimetre Brownings, and the radio. They had considered bringing heavier weapons, but it had been decided that, if they got caught, an SMG wouldn’t make a huge difference in the middle of hostile territory. Stealth was their best weapon. He checked both pistols were loaded, but not cocked. Once they were settled in their position then they would arm their personal weapons. Once he had sorted out the radio, they would be ready. They could then catch some sleep, two hours on, two hours off during the night, and four on, four off during the day. This would be their life for an indeterminate period of time, and it started now.

  Chapter 19

  What happens when an H-Bomb explodes?

  An explosion from this type of bomb would devastate an area for many miles around. The bigger the bomb, the higher it exploded, would determine the amount of damage caused. But, you can survive. The three dangers you will face outside of the immediate area, are heat, fall-out and blast.

  Heat – the huge fireball it creates would be white-hot, lasting for up to twenty seconds, killing anyone in its immediate path and for many miles away.

  Fall-out – the rising fireball would suck up huge amounts of dust from the ground and make it radioactive. As it rises higher and higher, carried downwind, it will be scattered over an area hundreds of miles long, forming a lethal corridor tens of miles wide.

  Blast – that would come after the intense heatwave and would be at hurricane force levels, destroying all buildings in its path. Even those buildings further afield would have their windows shattered and may be unstable and unsafe.

  Protect your Family – Handbook 1

  CHANTICLEER. UNITED KINGDOM GOVERNMENT EMERGENCY WAR HEADQUARTERS, CORSHAM. 3 JULY 1984.

  THE RED EFFECT −3 DAYS.

  “Lawrence, the rest of the Cabinet can’t get here for a couple of hours, so I wanted to talk through a few things with you and Jeremy before they arrive.”

  The Secretary of State for Defence was about to reply, but Jeremy Chapman, the Home Secretary, responded first. “The roads are incredibly busy, Prime Minister. It seems there is some mild panic buying occurring in parts of the country.”

  “My announcement later today will only make matters worse.”

  “I have instructed the police to cancel all leave, and officers will be expected to do extra shifts.”

  “Good. Troops on standby, Lawrence?”

  “Yes, Prime Minister. They are also preparing to protect key points, such as power plants, bridges, communications buildings.”

  “I spoke to the Metropolitan Police Commissioner last night. He will be bringing some of his emergency plans into being,” added the Home Secretary.

  “This is going to turn this country and the world upside down.” Harriet Willis sighed. “Do you have any better news for us, Lawrence?”

  “I’m afraid the character of the news going forward is going to be very dependent on what happens over the coming days. As we established during the sitting at Westminster yesterday and the Cabinet meeting last night, we reaffirmed our commitment to NATO. At a meeting of the NATO Military Committee, I informed them of Britain’s support and pledged our forces to fulfil their role in defending our ally, the Federal Republic of Germany. It was agreed without exception that NATO forces in West Germany should deploy. As approved, we will give our commanders the authority to deploy our forces when they see fit.”

  Prime Minister Harriet Willis leant forward. “They were all in agreement?”

  “The Belgian Prime Minister was dragging his feet, but came around in the end.”

  “We must let Christopher know. No doubt the Soviet Ambassador will be camping outside the Foreign Office once he hears about this.” The PM looked through the line of large windows that separated this office from the lengthy Cabinet Office conference room that was also part of Section 14 of the Government War Headquarters at Corsham. Staff were in and out of the conference room, busying themselves with getting it ready for the forthcoming Cabinet, now referred to as COBRA, meeting.

  “How is the preparedness of this facility progressing, Jeremy?”

  “It’s not fully staffed yet, Prime Minister, but will be by midday tomorrow. It is proving difficult for the Government to balance the everyday activities with moving to...” he hesitated, “…a state of war.”

  “Come on, Jeremy! We are at war, even if shots haven’t been fired yet. Put some fire under them. I..want...this...ready...now.” Her voice softened s
lightly. “We are going to have to run the country from here, whether we, or the rest of the country, like it or not.”

  “I will get on it immediately after the COBRA meeting.”

  “Good.” She gave him the firm look that she was famous for. “We must be ready. What is ready?”

  “The BBC studio is functional as is the Ministry of Information. The staff are testing the links as we speak.”

  The Defence Secretary changed the subject, taking some of the pressure off his fellow Cabinet colleague. “Have the Defence, Public Safety Regulations been put into effect yet?”

  “Yes, along with the Public Safety and Order Regulations.”

  “That will help us to control the media at least,” the PM mused. “We need foster as much calm across the country as possible.”

  “Complete control, Prime Minister. And with the BBC in block 16 next door to us, we can send out the right message.”

  “What about the Railways and Essential Services Act?”

  “All done. Once Parliament agreed and signed it off yesterday, it was put into use almost immediately.”

  The PM stared through the floor-to-ceiling windows again. “I never thought we would be sitting here, putting this bunker to use for real.”

  The ‘Chanticleer’, the Government War Headquarters, was starting to come alive. The central stores were stocked with food and supplies to feed up to four thousand staff, although not all would be working in the main bunker complex. The bakery, with its automated breadmaker, a device that stood over two metres high, was gearing up to provide the bunker’s occupants with fresh bread. The kitchen staff were in the process of giving the kitchen and its numerous ovens and stoves a deep clean. Although much of the kitchen equipment was from the mid-to-late sixties, it was still serviceable. Once fully up and running, the chefs and cooks would provide the occupants of the bunker with at least one hot meal a day. In the meantime, a tea bar had been set up.

  Area 8, normally quiet and unused, clicked and chattered as exchange lights lit up on the GPO telephone exchange. A thirteen-metre long, fourteen-position unit, dedicated primarily to international communications, was ready for use. Just four operators were working there at this time. Close by was a smaller supervisors’ and directory enquiries’ desk, the four-metre shelf above it lined with the latest telephone directories.